


Nights Like These

by ninchannie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, AU - Only 3RACHA, Anal Sex, Best Friends, Birthday Sex, Bottom Han Jisung | Han, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Sex, Festivals, Fluffy, Friendship, Happy, Intense, Love, M/M, Metaphors, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Use, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Pensive Changbin, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Sex, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scars, Semi-Public Sex, Spit As Lube, Summer, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Bang Chan, Top Seo Changbin, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, both only mentioned - Freeform, lots of sweat, mentioned switching, sad past, sweaty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninchannie/pseuds/ninchannie
Summary: It’s just the three of them, surrounded by nothing but singing cicadas and the distant noise of basses and a partying crowd, celebrating, dancing and living.Changbin feels the most alive in moments like these.The wind softly chisels his hair and it prompts him out of his momentary reverie of nostalgia and heavy pressure on his heart, sweet yet painful like cement is filling up his guts and slowly hardening up with every thought rushing through his brain.And in this moment, he knows more than ever before: He made it.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Han Jisung | Han & Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119
Collections: Summer Boy





	Nights Like These

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for 
> 
> Day 9: Summer Festival
> 
> (They also celebrate Changbin's birthday, however)
> 
> There are mentions of past suicidal thoughts and self harm, drug and alcohol abuse. The three of them managed to get out of these cycles with each other's help and it is only reminiscing thoughts that mention these themes, but if they could trigger you, please read with caution. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

It’s nights like these that make Changbin feel a multitude of grateful and melancholic feelings, an amount surpassing every inkling of ecstasy and joy he ever thought he could measure up.

They make him reminisce about times that he so desperately tried to wash down with alcohol, drugs and cheap sex. Years of sleepless nights and days spent painfully waiting for every second to pass on the clock of his busted phone screen.

Years, that others call wasted and ruined, a ruined youth and life before it even fully began. It’s a frame of time that took many losses from Changbin’s life and just a few additions. From his family to his old friends to possible success, everything was taken from him before he even turned of age.

But it’s the additions that count, the things he gained when he thought the world completely turned against him. When he considered to not be a part of this universe would be a better solution than to disgrace and soil everything he touches.

The good came slowly and in disguise. A busted guitar pulled from a dumpster. A notebook that used to home his maths homework turning to the birthplace of life-altering lyrics. A seemingly insignificant, yet fateful accident of stumbling down a flight of stairs and into another body, not busting only his own knee, but also the stranger’s face open.

But on the whole way to the hospital, all Jisung did was apologize, as if it was him that fell into Changbin and not the other way around.

With Jisung inevitably came Chan, a best friend slash soulmate slash partner in crime that had taken root in Jisung’s gnarly apartment a few months prior and unavoidably so in Changbin’s heart, just a few full pages of scribbled lyrics after the infamous stair incident.

Nights like these will never cease to make Changbin recollect these memories he holds so dear to his heart. Humid, sweaty nights right before his twenty-sixth birthday and on the roof of their tour van, housing instruments and air mattresses and merchandise. A gentle buzz of adrenaline and endorphins still tumbles through his system, after the insane set at the biggest music festival of the state.

There was a time when he thought he would be better off gone. People _told_ him everyone would be better off with him gone, even his own father spat it at his face before kicking Changbin out with nothing to his name. But here he is, during one of the most sickeningly sticky nights of the year, sweating his skin off with every twitch of muscle and he _made it_.

They made it together.

A sold-out cross-country tour. Consistent sales of their last three albums and entering the Billboard top two hundred with their latest single. Changbin, Jisung and Chan, they made it all from their own power and hands. From their last seventy bucks spent to get their mixtape promoted on social media, to working their arms off for being allowed to play as an opening act for a rapper that everybody forgot about just a year later.

He used to play festivals like this, that they could only ever dream of even going to as fans. But now they play here too, as headliners, alongside renown names of people they actually shook hands with during the day, and _they made it_.

Yet it’s the times like these, when their ears slowly start to get back to normal, the static noise from being screamed at by thousands upon thousands of people crackling away with every second deeper into the night. It’s these times that feel the most magical.

More so than shaking hands and signing the contract with their label. More enchanting than recording songs in the most prestigious studios, compared to the makeshift booth they once built in Jisung’s shower.

Because it’s just the three of them, surrounded by nothing but singing cicadas and the distant noise of basses and a partying crowd, celebrating, dancing and _living_.

Changbin feels the most alive in moments like these.

The wind softly chisels his hair and it prompts him out of his momentary reverie of nostalgia and heavy pressure on his heart, sweet yet painful like cement is filling up his guts and slowly hardening up with every thought rushing through his brain.

Even the surroundings seem to have adjusted to his painful past contrasting with his more than bright present. Looking to the right, there’s the sickly-yellowish-green field stretching on seemingly into eternity, disappearing into a blue so dark it might as well be black, just speckled with sparkling stars and a thin sickle of the moon.

On the left however, is the chaotic beautiful coloured mess of Changbin’s now. A row of rainbow LED torches frames a trampled bath between cars, vans and busses of artists and organizers alike, leading up to the silver framework visible at the back of the very stage the three of them stood upon just a few hours earlier.

Completely unpreventable, Changbin’s eyes stumble upon the shadowy forms of the two people he loves most in the world, illuminated in neon and pastel, pink and blue and bright green. They look otherworldly, enthralling and magical and it’s not the first time that Changbin wishes he could draw, to forever engrain this view into his memories.

Chan’s lashes throw long, stringy shadows over his cheeks, a sheen of sweat reflecting the coloured LEDs off like tiny rainbows encapsulated on his face. Droplets holding prison to whole other universes inside.

There’s a bead of sweat running down the sharp line of his cupids bow, unhurriedly making its way over his plush top lip where an eager tongue swoops it up to prohibit from further giving him delicate tickling sensations.

There are some universes on Jisung’s face too, darker and cloudier from being shadowed from the lights behind Chan’s broad frame and some of his makeup mixed into it too. The skin of his cheeks seems to have adapted a life of its own, the tongue underneath dancing around and making it seem like there are earthquakes throwing tremors through the softness.

And then there are these eyes, deep and familiar and having held capture to some of Changbin’s most treasured moments. Some of his most soaring highs, but also some of his deepest, most gashing lows.

They are still taking him in after years of hardships and euphoria, still vulnerable at times and earnest at others. Set at home under sometimes furrowed and sometimes raised brows, the right one disrupted by a faint scar from Changbin’s and Jisung’s first meeting, a twin one residing straight across Changbin’s knee.

And that’s where his eyes take him next, to his own skin glowing blue and purple down his exposed legs, out from under the comfortable shorts he changed into after their set. His scar looks iridescent in the faint glow of the LEDs, like he could just barely graze over it with his fingertips and it would open up to a crystalline portal to different dimensions underneath.

He does just that, grazes one index finger over the charred skin carefully, but no glow seeps out, no skin rips open to reveal a magical power from within his own body.

“He’s thinking again,” Chan mumbles, pulling Changbin away from strange dimensions and ethereal beings. His voice is pure gravel, worn from hours on stage and then even more down in the crowd. It sends a shiver straight down Changbin’s spine, following in the wake of countless drops of sweat.

An approving hum sounds from closer to Changbin, then a metallic thud when Jisung lays down flat on the roof of the car, eyes closed and arms under his head as a makeshift pillow. “He’s been on it for so long now, does he never get tired of it?” He asks, smiling so wide Changbin can hear it in his voice alone, doesn’t even have to look over to confirm it.

Chan is smiling too, eyes travelling over to Changbin and over his familiar features. “I wonder what he thinks about when he’s like this…”

“I’m sitting right here, you know?” Changbin speaks, but his gaze stays on his knee, where he is softly plucking the skin between his fingers.

Another metallic thud, Jisung is on his side now, looking at Chan. “ _Look at me, I’m Changbin, I kicked Jisung down a flight of stairs and nearly killed him_ ,” he mocks with a singsong voice.

“Guys, I can hear you-“

“ _I’m Changbin, I eat up all of Channie’s food even though I know it’s his_ ,” Chan chimes in, spinning on the smooth surface of the van until he is facing Jisung completely, head in his hands and elbows on his knees that are crossed in front of him.

“I swear to God, I-“

“ _Look at me, I’m Changbin and I cry when I don’t get a goodnight kiss from my two best friends or when they do something without me_ ,” Jisung stops in the middle of the sentence, giggling when Changbin swats at him with his sandal, finally fully snapping out of his trance.

“You two are the worst, why did I choose the two biggest assholes in the world as my best friends?” He says with a pout, only feeling _very_ accomplished when Jisung turns around to send him a fond eye roll.

“I think it’s _us_ that chose _you_ , and we are the ones suffering from it,” he says with a wink and captures Changbin’s hand when he motions to swat him again, mumbling a “ _Get away with your stinky sandal_.”

It’s Chan who plays conciliator and swiftly grabs the shoe from between their quarrelling hands, throwing it right behind him and not caring when it lands against another car.

“That’s my shoe, you asshole!” Changbin promptly yells, making to jump of the side of the van to fetch it right back but Chan easily captures him by the wrist, keeping him on the metal roof, just way closer to him and Jisung. Their thighs are touching, searing heat on scorching warmth, and then Jisung’s sweaty palm is on Changbin’s back too and he feels like his body should melt altogether.

“You should stop calling the people you love assholes, asshole,” the eldest says with a fond smile, free hand reaching out to push a sweaty strand of dark blue hair out of Changbin’s forehead. He keeps his fingers there even when the blue tinted sweat stains his fingers and the other tries to move away from the touch.

“ _Tch_ , I don’t love you,” Changbin mutters, lips pushing out into a tut all too naturally.

Jisung laughs at him from behind, his hand reaching up to thread into the longer hair on Changbin’s nape. “Yeah, I think you do… and me too.”

The next part of their conversation comes straight out of every b-grade romance novel but has happened a multitude of times between the three of them, respectively all of them switching up parts at different times.

“I hate you,” says Changbin.

“Lies,” answers Chan.

Changbin groans annoyedly and lightly shoves Chan away, no strength behind it. “I _do_.”

“You _do-hon’t_ ,” Jisung singsongs and from there on the script diverts from the stereotypical romance novel. “You love us so much it eats you up from the inside out.”

“I-“

“Come on,” Chan sighs. “It hurts you so much, you feel like there’s holes in your entrails and needles in your heart, don’t you?”

“I don-“

The car dips down when Jisung sits up and drapes himself over Changbin’s back, as if the mid-summer heat isn’t already scorching enough. “Don’t worry, we hurt just as bad, baby. Right, Chan?”

And then Chan is pressing up on him too, right to Changbin’s side and licking a bead of sweat off of his temple. “Yes, I hurt _so_ bad,” he whines right there, pulling Changbin’s hand into his lap and showing him just how deep his hurting goes, how hard he already is in his pants. “I love you so much, Binnie. You want to be our baby for tonight? Our good baby?”

Tears shoot hotly into Changbin’s eyes and his throat tightens up almost painfully. He wants to, oh so desperately. But words are hard when Chan is basically grinding into his palm and Jisung is pressing soft kisses on his neck. So he just nods and _flies_ on the satisfied smile he feels against his forehead. The suppressed moan to his highest vertebra.

“We’ve waited all evening… Do you even know how good you look on stage?” Chan groans, pressing Changbin’s palm down hard on his cock.

Shyly, the younger shakes his head, making Jisung chuckle against his neck. “Well, we know, and about… _uh_ … a _lot_ of people also do, from how they screamed whenever you did something on there.”

The sole dumbness of Jisung’s wondering words are powerful enough to pull Changbin out of his horny jumble. “Wow, how very proficient of you to know the exact number of the crowd today, truly incredible Ji,” he says and fist bumps Chan when Jisung offendedly cries out. But then Chan pulls his hand off of his crotch and begins to open his shorts. “W-wait, right here? Everyone could see…”

“What, you want to do it in our stinky van?” Jisung asks, biting Changbin’s shoulder just to see him squirm.

“As if you care about stinky…”, Chan mutters, hands stilled on his zipper. “If we want to do it in there, we leave the door open, okay?”

Defeatedly Changbin agrees with a nod and watches Chan smoothly slip off the van and land on his feet, quickly followed by Jisung who stumbles into his arms. Changbin climbs down a bit more carefully, groaning when his right ankle feels like giving out under him, but then two pairs of hands grab him under his shoulders and knees and hoist him into the opened door of the van, onto the neon green air mattress functioning as a makeshift bed for the few hours of sleep they get every night during festival season.

Sweaty hands reach out to pull the slightly smaller pink mattress next to the first one, roughly shoving Changbin to the side and into an amplifier to place a few towels on the plastic so their melting bodies won’t turn one with their beds.

It’s hot in the van, even with the door pulled open to the side and the front windows rolled down completely. It feels like a strange mechanic cave holding all of Changbin’s want hostage. Like he’s an entity of nature, residing right under a volcano and just waiting to make it explode at his will.

Much softer hands direct Changbin back to the mattress, pull his shirt off and push him until his back is resting against the opposite wall of the door, eyes trying to conjure every last slip of brightness from the outside to make out the shadowed ghost forms of his friends, but failing inevitably. Like they are entities too, residing underneath the volcano alongside Changbin.

Just that these two are a lot more powerful.

Changbin swears he can hear a sizzling hiss when Chan’s hands come to slide down from his shoulders to his stomach, kneading his soft skin because the oldest has a strange obsession with the feeling, forces Changbin to eat over his own measures and then not do any exercise for his abs, just arms and legs.

There should be a waft of steam when Jisung peels Changbin’s shorts off of him and leaves him completely naked, his already hard cock slapping wetly against his lower stomach. Maybe that part of him is the nucleus to the volcano. The searing centre filled with lava and just waiting to erupt from Chan’s and Jisung’s skilled touches, ready to destroy whole countrysides and villages.

But then Chan slips down right between Changbin’s legs, pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it before engulfing him in an even greater heat.

There’s many things Changbin would attribute to Chan, but patience when he has a goal in mind wouldn’t be one of them. Hell, it wouldn’t even be on the list, just burned and crackled to ashes in a fireplace of things that Chan Definitely Not At All Ever is.

It’s not any different this time, Chan swiftly swallowing Changbin down until he sits hot and heavy on his tongue, tip just breaching right into his throat and his lips pressed tight to the coarse curls at his very base.

He hums delightfully around Changbin, and the younger can vividly imagine the expression of pure and utter bliss on his friend’s face, eyes rolling back into his head at the heady taste and numbing feeling.

Chan always had this thing for getting things in his mouth. A joint the first time Changbin met him. A popsicle when they wrote their first track together. Jisung’s cock when Changbin came back home at very unfortunate timing.

He loves it and he’s _messy_ with it, always coming out a drooling and satisfied chaos, preferably with a face sprinkled with cum.

It’s not different this time as he inches off painfully slowly, slurping up waves of drool running down Changbin’s shaft and smiling against him before swirling his tongue around the tip with stinging sweet pressure, barely there yet all encompassing.

The feeling is all Changbin can think of, sweet wet pleasure, loud and unforgiving as it runs up and down his length, keeps him lodged deep into Chan’s throat before pulling up ever so slightly. There are whole layers added to it through the heavy darkness laying upon them. Of imagining his friend’s aroused expression, his plush lips even pinker and fuller than usual.

And then there’s the fact that there is still an electric festival going on somewhere distant, but close enough to feel the vibration of heavy bass through the very earth under their vans worn tires. Maybe not soon, but eventually it will trickle to an end in the early morning, and then what. People will pass by and possibly see, or maybe that’s something that the darkness saves Changbin from too, hiding him away as much as his friends. Ringing ears of avid celebrators muting out their own personal noise.

And there’s a lot of that. Wet, delicious filth from between his legs, only representing a notion of what Changbin can actually feel run down over his balls and soak into the towel below. His own moans and whines sound too breathy, too high, not like his own voice even, and in the darkness, it is easier to imagine they’re coming from someone else completely.

With a metallic thud, Jisung slides down next to Changbin, pressing his shirtless torso against the length of his arm and shoulder, his skinny waist and even skinnier legs posing a sharp contrast to Changbin’s muscles bulging under pleasantly soft skin.

Jisung’s fingers are less sweaty-wet and more sticky when they graze over Changbin’s cheek to nudge his face into the direction of his own, from what the older would rather not want to know. The single digit travels over his jaw, his chin to his plush bottom lip, pulling the soft flesh down and letting it bounce up again and for a brief moment Changbin wonders if Jisung maybe can see better in the dark than him, or if he only does it for the soft sensation.

There is not a hairs breadth between them, yet somehow Jisung clambers even closer, trapping Changbin’s hand between his clothed thighs and pressing hotly against his forearm with obvious arousal.

Apparently, that’s not enough for the younger, because he presses their foreheads together too, two fires meeting and melting into a single one. They must have a fever with how hot they’re running, in no world should someone be this warm, but here Changbin is, boiling already and on top of that having Jisung burn like iron into his side and Chan fierily swallowing him into liquid heat.

His breathing comes hurriedly, brokenly with his lungs filling with what must be gas, barely getting enough oxygen to keep his mind working even remotely sane. Has Chan’s mouth always been this soft? Has Jisung’s scar always so prominently parted his brow so even Changbin can feel it just from their heads being pressed together?

He’s losing himself again, just like up on the roof. His cock buries itself deep in Chan’s mouth and lips press into his pubic hair, but Changbin is trapped in a labyrinth of his own mind, chaotic, bright, all too much. There’s pure darkness around them, yet behind his lids there are glowing clouds wreaking havoc.

Changbin is rock, diamond, ashes, morphing bodies under the earth of a mountain high enough for no bird to reach the top. He’s melting and transforming, exploding with his own energy, with air breathed into his lungs and sucked right from his lips. He’s a power of nature waiting to destruct, waiting to snap, waiting always waiting.

It’s the least earthly thing Changbin can fathom that pulls him free, back into the sick humidity of the van. A phone is buzzing, just three quick vibrations from somewhere behind Jisung, who takes a mere second to shut the offending device off.

“Happy birthday, Seo Changbin,” Jisung whispers, the words seeping deep into Changbin’s skull by the air huffed over his heated face. It’s a surprising quiet from the usually uproaring man, gentle and filled with every ounce of emotion Changbin knows Jisung herds for him. For both of his friends.

He opens his mouth, slow and sticky, licking over them to get rid of the dryness on his tongue. No words come, not even a whine, a moan, spurred upon by Chan stopping all movement with Changbin completely inside of his mouth. _I love you_ , he wants to say.

Jisung kisses him deeply and slowly, his own lips wet and gliding against Changbin’s with a salty aftertaste that neither pay much mind. It’s summer, they’ve both tasted worse things of each other before. In a weird sense it feels calming to give the onslaught of sensation Changbin is encountering a taste, a clear definition to hang on to. 

When lips part and make way for teeth to bury in lips, tongues start to taste and roam, explore what they already know so deeply, Changbin begins to feel headier than before, even less like himself when he feels drool run down his chin, probably his very own from his mouth having gone lax in favour of allowing Jisung to play his sweet game that he’s so naturally good at.

There must be a tell, a secret little thing he himself isn’t in upon, but Chan must somehow notice how the storm in Changbin’s belly coils tighter and tighter, how he feels close to let lose all of what he has inside of him at the hands of his most dearest friends.

He pulls off with a disgustingly wet sound when Changbin slips out of his throat, drool and precum gushing down his length in waves about which the older doesn’t seem to care when he nuzzles into the space next to Changbin’s length, his head pillowed on the softness of his right thigh.

The voice that speaks up isn’t Chan’s, not nearly. It’s an angel, a demon, a god of pure desire that must’ve taken over his body and mind. “Happy birthday, Bin,” the deity speaks, rough and wet with the power of all seven seas. Changbin is hot all over, but it manages to send chills up his whole body.

Only reluctantly, Jisung lets himself be pried away with a trembling hand pushing gently against his sternum, releasing Changbin with kiss-bruised lips and a hazy mind. He’s panting, completely out of breath and feeling way more exhausted than he ever does on stage, even after his most challenging lines.

“You’re right,” he says, after what feels like the lifetime of a sun. “I love you. I love both of you so much it feels like my organs are being ripped into tiny pieces and healed all over again, every time you touch me. I am Prometheus, chained to a stone and you two are the birds gnawing at my liver.”

He expects sighs, maybe even a quick, emotional sob, but instead Chan chuckles. “Eagles,” he sighs into the coarse curls at the base of Changbin’s cock. “I think in the myth it was an eagle.”

“And don’t push your liver-problems on us, that was all you and your unhealthy drinking habits a few years ago.” Jisung flicks a finger over Changbin’s nipple, or where he thinks it should be in the darkness, but apparently, he misses and only hits the softness of Changbin’s chest, gaining no reaction in return, other than a yelped _ouch_.

Changbin clutches his hand over the spot, right over his heart that is thumping too quickly under his skin, an unhealthy rhythm that only summer nights like this can bring upon, heavy and bone-shattering, yet fast as a bird searing through the air.

With a huff, Changbin sits up a bit more against the wall, unsticking his back from the metal and jostling Chan out of his comfortable bedding into a hovering position. “I’m being truthful and open, and all you two do is make fun of me, what beginning of a birthday is that?” He asks rhetorically and turns away when Jisung tries to pry his head forward into another kiss.

“We don’t mean it, baby, and you know that,” Chan says and it’s the _real_ him again, voice still gravelly and rough but arguably recognizable. He stands up on what appear to be unsteady legs by the way the van rocks underneath the movement. Only a shuffle of fabric indicates to Changbin what he is doing, pulling off every last bit of offending clothes.

Jisung uses the momentary distraction to bend forward and bury his face in Changbin’s neck, teeth grazing over his salty skin and slowly nipping his way upward to the shell of his ear. “So, what do you want to do? What would make the beginning of your birthday better, baby, tell us…”

It’s a filthy way of filling Changbin’s head with every possible picture of the three being together, every possible way of Jisung being under him or Chan, of the oldest ruining Changbin wholly, or him doing so to the other. He can’t possibly choose that, and he shouldn’t _have_ to choose what he supposes will be his birthday present, and he tells his friends just that.

They answer with simultaneous eye rolls that Changbin thankfully can’t see in the aery dark inside of the van. Chan answers first. “You have to tell us what you want though, we can’t just choose for you, that’s not how this works.”

Simmering further and further from the delicious kind of burn from just a few minutes earlier, Changbin finds the heat inside of the vehicle to become more and more stuffy with each passing second. “It’s how it _should_ work, I can’t choose for you either,” he whines with a pout that Jisung can feel against his shoulder where he is still pressed against his friend.

He sighs exasperatedly before pulling back and promptly sliding one leg over Changbin and sitting on his lap, careful to not drop too low in an unfounded fear of grafting their legs together in a melting touch of skin on skin.

“Is this what you want, baby?”, he asks softly, fingers tracing down Changbin’s torso and lingering ever so slightly on his most sensitive spots. First his nipples, then the space right under his armpits, lower until Jisung dips a gentle digit into his belly button. “Want me to ride you? Or would you rather fuck me on all fours.” Jisung can feel the shudder that rakes through Changbin at the words.

Of course Chan goes a step further, tumbling right into the deep and sensitive recesses of Changbin’s wanting. “We can also take care of _you_ if you want that,” he says in the sultriest voice. “We can stretch you slowly and then see who you want to take, or maybe you can take us both, hm?”

Only a garbled string of curses rings through the sizzling air, before Changbin seems to catch himself, sliding down the wall of the van until he is flat against the mattress, the towel having slid down with him, so his back is unhinderedly pressing against the plastic. He takes Jisung with him, hot palms steady on his thighs, surely burning their imprints into his skin.

“ _Fuck_ , I want all of that,” he admits when he eventually settles down with his back completely straight on the mattress, only dipping in where Jisung is weighing him down by the hips. “But I think I want to start like this, is that okay?”

His friends answer in unison, smiling and happy, wanting just as badly as Changbin wants and not caring one bit about the _who_ ’s and _how_ ’s. “Of course, baby.”

Changbin has an armful of Jisung before he can even speak up again, lips not so much even pressing against his, but rather splitting his own mouth open to swiftly lick over his tongue that suddenly feels too big for his own mouth.

“I’ll prep Ji. You two better not cum too quickly,” Chan warns from somewhere behind Jisung, seemingly lifting the smaller up by the hips to pull his shorts off before gently setting him down again, legs spread far around Changbin’s hips, so his knees aren’t even propped on the air mattress anymore, but on the hard floor of the van. Jisung will have bruises for days to come, but he can’t find even an ounce of worry about it in his lust-wrecked mind, much too excited for what’s to come.

Under him, Changbin realizes it too when Chan settles down over his shins, his cock dragging over the skin there faintly, yet hot enough to sear whole layers of skin away it seems. He can only guess when the oldest begins whatever wonders he works with his tongue, when Jisung all but melts into him, mouth opening even wider in an impressively loud gasp.

Chan surely loves to have things in his mouth, and to do things with his mouth, and no matter if sucking Changbin into the depths of paradise or spreading liquified heaven over Jisung’s rim with his tongue, he does it well.

No kiss there to distract Changbin as Jisung uselessly falls forward to moan into the crook of his neck, the older decides to help Chan out by raking his hands over Jisung’s ass and pulling him apart, granting easier access for the other, who immediately dives in deeper, ignoring the salty taste under his tongue or the fact that air is already thin in the van, yet non-existent when he seems to want to immerse himself right into Jisung’s skin.

Changbin’s lips, kiss-bruised and sticky, travel over the familiar plains of Jisung’s shoulder as the younger all but falls into him, every bit of tension and strength pulled from his body with each movement of Chan’s tongue, each graze of teeth or gentle sucking pressure. 

He’s knobby, his body never having escaped the awkward stage that Changbin met him in, sure bulked up here and there, but always reminiscent of the unsure eighteen-year-old with more insecurities to count than stars in the night sky. Oh, Changbin wishes that would be an exaggeration.

But he likes to think that with careful nurturing, Jisung turned some of those insecurities into pure strength and confidence, just like the picture of his body, even in all its juxtapositions of angles and soft flesh, knobby knuckles and bulging biceps. 

Savouring the thought for another day, Changbin closes his lips around the end of Jisung’s clavicle, gently grazing his teeth over the prominent bone before sucking the skin into what he hopes is a pretty shape of red, maybe not there to stay, but why would he need that, when he knows for a fact that his friends are much more his, than they will ever be someone else's. 

And the response shows just that. It’s a sound so raw, so elemental and unfiltered, not one person in this world could get Jisung to mutter such a thing, but Chan and Changbin can do so easily, just with hot fingers and wet mouths, playing him like their very own invention of an instrument. Filthy, delicious music. It’s not a coincidence after all, that they love to use each other’s moans in their songs. 

Minutes fly by like this, gentler than any summer breeze could ever run over their skin and Changbin nearly forgets about all the _if’s_ and _what’s_ , the worries that plagued him earlier. Because who cares if someone walks by their van, if the sweat is wet enough to drown him, when he feels this _good_.

And he knows he isn’t just the only one, Chan having been reduced to breathed moans, right into Jisung’s depths, small rutting motions between Changbin’s calves, not even caring when his body hair catches against his skin in alien friction. 

Like a ghost settling into Jisung’s body, some of his strength seems to have returned as well, noticeable in a hand clutching over Changbin’s and spreading him even further apart, his hips rutting back against Chan’s face, making a mess on his cheeks and nose, but what difference do spit or sweat make during summer nights like this one. 

And the most hurtful part, settling an ache deep into Changbin’s gut like he will be ripped apart from the very inside, that part is Jisung’s pleas. Moans and whines now forming molten words of golden joy, pet names, _thank_ _you’s_ and most of all begs of all colours of the world. 

_More Channie_ , turning to _please Bin, give me_ , to the most basic _please, please, fuck me please I need you so bad_. Jisung chokes on his own spit with every syllable like it’s too big for his mouth, too slippery to use language correctly, and Changbin punishes him with even deeper plunges, faint touches of the very tip of his tongue torturously tracing his rim until something else drops onto Changbin’s shoulder, something even hotter. Jisung cries quietly but begs with the utmost confidence. And it’s all his friends’ work. 

Changbin isn’t sure how much time has passed when he lightly pushes Jisung up, steadying his trembling arms until he hovers above him with the prettiest arch of his back, hooded eyes puffy and lips swollen from salty tears. He’s quietly thanking himself for not flicking on the van’s crappy ceiling light, like he had planned to before, to watch Changbin get beautifully ruined, because like this he knows that he won’t get teased, not more than he already is at least. 

“Channie, come on,” Changbin speaks up, voice huffed in fear of disrupting the sacred air around them. “If we continue like this my birthday will be over before I even get inside of him.”

There’s another few seconds of wet slurping, before Chan can bring himself to pull away with a groan, sitting up on his knees only to wrap a tight hand around his cock, easing some of the burn from Changbin’s leg hair. 

“Did you suddenly find your voice, baby?”, he asks cruelly, and even Jisung giggles, however in a pathetically small voice. “Already so eager?”

In usual circumstances, including a bed and a ceiling fan, they would torture Changbin for sweet hours to come, until his skin is spread far enough to wrap around the globe and engulf every single being in his sweet relief. But he supposes there are good things to growing a year older, merciful birthday sex being the best that comes to Changbin’s mind. 

His breathing still stutters at Chan’s words, but the loss of his presence and rummaging to Changbin’s side is enough show of what he’s doing, seemingly finding what he wanted with an ear breaking zip running through the air as he opens his ratty backpack and pulls out a strip of condoms, unceremoniously dumping it on the ground next to their plastic prison of a bed. 

Just as Chan rips one off, Jisung crawls up higher over Changbin’s soft stomach, making place for the oldest to grab Changbin’s cock behind Jisung and roll the condom down. For a second, Changbin tenses up, wondering if body heat is enough to melt the latex of a condom, but sticky fingers on his cheek stop his train of thought. 

“Stop thinking so _loudly_ , you’re ruining the mood,” Jisung sighs with an obvious smile in his voice, teasing even when he is the most ruined out of all of them. 

Before Changbin can think of a witty response, or any response at all, Chan claps Jisung’s wet ass twice to signal that it’s time and before the birthday boy knows it, the same sticky fingers from his face wrap around his cock and line him up with Jisung’s messy hole, hips pressing down hard a few times, before his head finally catches at the younger’s rim and slips inside. 

It’s a tight, sheer endless journey through the core of the sun itself, hot and filled with tiresome breaks when Jisung huffs out a sob and stops to get adjusted to another few centimetres of Changbin inside of him. 

Thinking back on it, it has been a while for the three of them to fuck, everything with travels and festival preparation having taken up their days and minds. But really, Changbin doesn’t want to _think_ of that, or if he’s causing Jisung any discomfort, not when he feels like he’s suffocating from both ends, lungs struggling to catch breath in the stuffed air of the van, and his cock diving into a searing grip of pure heat. 

So his hands find their way to Jisung’s waist, so small even under his short, stubby fingers, and he urges him down faster, just ever so slightly, hand imprints being ironed into soft sides. 

When Jisung can finally relax his straining leg muscles and sits completely on Changbin’s cock, Changbin feels like his lungs must explode from the pressure of the air around him, their strange volcanic cave filled with such an abundance of magical, enchanting powers, his inferior elemental can’t possibly survive. But somehow, he does.

He can’t see Jisung anyway, so his eyes fall closed with no regret as he tries to picture all the nooks and crannies of his friend’s body, how his face must be contorted in pleasure, brows furrowed, and his cute mouth opened with those pretty sounds. He’s beautiful and Changbin tells him that, moaned and with a shudder in his voice.

Jisung chuckles and runs his trembling fingers down Changbin’s outstretched arms, curling around his biceps only to feel the strength coiled up under the skin there. There’s so much Changbin could do to him, easily at that, but he’s always gentle like a feather’s touch, careful and shy with how he places his fingers and where he presses down.

“Y-you can’t even see me,” Jisung whines, clenching around him to feel the muscle under his fingertips jump. He calls him an idiot, in Korean, just to rile him up and to annoy him a bit. But all that Changbin does is throw his head back against the slippery air mattress and _whine_.

It’s a rare sound, specifically exclusive for times like these, where the three of them allow each other to go leisurely and slow, so that they all can feel everything of each other. They fall into an easy scheme like this, a gentle rhythm of grinding hips and grasping fingertips.

Jisung hasn’t even lifted himself up and Changbin sounds ruined enough to uncoil any second, his body all twitching muscles and trembling extremities, soft skin sticking against neon plastic and melting into one with someone else.

And as if to save him from a future of becoming one with sticky summer air, Chan slides up right behind Jisung, raking his hands down his torso, over Changbin’s fingers, to grasp at his hips. He doesn’t push or pull, simply prompts him into vertical movement by a simple press of his digits.

Jisung pushes himself up on unsteady legs like air fills Changbin’s lungs, sickly sweet and slowly, almost hurting from the sheer weight of it. He can feel the drag of the condom, of his skin underneath, up and up against Jisung’s walls that are so _tight_ around him, like he never wants to let him go.

Going down is even more of a strain, Jisung letting himself be pushed apart at a painfully slow pace, yet overwhelming from the surging heat inside of him. He likes to take things up his ass, would probably say he’s quite used to it, with these two being all over him whenever they get the chance, but this very moment in the back of the van it feels like a new experience entirely, pure hot temperature and dragging pressure.

There’s something akin to a sob bubbling from his throat when he has Changbin completely inside of him again, quickly caught by one of Chan’s hands wrapping around his middle and pulling him to his chest, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He’s the one on top of Changbin, but Jisung isn’t in control like this, his body won’t allow him. Other times he would easily make the other lose his mind by riding him into a state of bliss only he can give, but as if the resting energy of being on stage and the essence of being in their very own tour van weighs him down, he is enchanted to only feel, and to accept Chan’s heated body behind him to guide him.

With deliberate touches, the oldest of them eases him into a languid rhythm, not pulling off far, but being thorough in pushing down completely, until there’s no air left between Jisung’s and Changbin’s bodies, and the younger can feel him deep enough to see stars in the darkness around him.

It should be torturous for Changbin, to be left unmoving because of Chan pressing his legs down and Jisung holding him steady by the arms, but really it feels like that immobility only heightens all his senses, forces him to accept his birthday gift like his friends want to give it to him, and that’s exactly what he wanted in the first place.

So he takes every centimetre of relieve when Jisung pulls off, moans with every grind, every clench around him when he’s buried deep inside. It’s as if he can feel Chan’s hands on him as well, as if Jisung and him have truly become one and he can feel everything the other is experiencing.

Chan’s praises soon become his as well, moaned deeply into the space around them and bouncing of the metal walls like countless of dark versions of Chan are coming to haunt Changbin in the best way. He doesn’t even understand most of what his friend tells them, only torn words of _pretty_ or _baby_ or _love_. And that’s enough.

More than enough even, for Changbin to quickly feel close to being pushed over the edge. He doesn’t care if it’s too soon, doesn’t know if much time has passed at all, or if they’ve lived like this long enough to see the deaths of a thousand stars.

It doesn’t matter when you feel this good, this at ease and _loved_. Time isn’t running through the hourglass, no, it is morphing like magma and exploding into nothingness, rebuilt in Jisung crying out Changbin’s name and coming all over his stomach. In Chan pressing him down one last time as Jisung’s fingers rake through the mess on Changbin’s stomach.

“Come for us,” the oldest begs, just once and Changbin is pushed over the edge.

It’s not violent, world-shattering, not at all. Instead it feels soft and like he’s diving into a comfortable pool of warmth. Pictures of Jisung and Chan light up behind his closed lids, weirdly zoomed in on teeth and dimples and brows, hearing their laughter in his ear like he’s somewhere else entirely.

They dim out to a comforting white noise when he comes down and feels Jisung pull off, the sudden loss of warmth around Changbin making him feel tingly and cold for a short second before the actual warmth of the air hits him.

Someone pulls off the condom and tosses it to the side, a problem for them to care about another time, and then Jisung falls forward into Changbin’s embrace, moans a slurred _I love you_ into his ear. He’s drooling too, now all kinds of liquids making them slip and slide against each other like some kind of alien beings.

There’s another sound of a condom package being ripped open, Chan moaning as he seemingly rolls it on. Then, Changbin feels the mattress dip down even further as he bends over them and presses a quick kiss to his lips, right as he slips into Jisung’s stretched hole.

The younger bends back, spine dipping in, until he can reach their mouths too, pressing sloppy wet lips against theirs, then tongue to make it easier. But then Chan’s fingers drag through his sweat-wet hair and push him back into Changbin’s neck, before pressing a last kiss to the birthday boy’s lips.

Chan also has scars, thick and gritty, palpable only from his thighs bumping into Changbin’s and his arms dragging over Jisung’s skin. They are long healed, but a constant reminder to them. One day Changbin wants to kiss every single one on Chan’s skin and tell him that he loves him with each press of his lips. But right now, something else is needed, more primal and desperate, so he just says it out loud and Chan answers brightly, with a voice filled with happiness.

“I love you two,” he says before settling in a position he can hold himself up in, but still make his friends feel everything.

It’s impossible to compare the way Chan begins to fuck Jisung, to how he made the smaller ride Changbin. There’s still a certain degree of consideration and calculation, pull out far and thrust back in hard enough to make wet skin slap loudly, but behind it there’s a more frantic, desperate need.

It’s no surprise, not when Chan took care of both of his best friends with his mouth and then took part in tearing them both apart limb for limb before settling them back together, moulding them into one under their beautiful voices and touches.

He only needs a few thrusts to spill into the condom, deep inside of Jisung, pushing him further into Changbin as he collapses above them, effectively creating a messy pile of skin, sweat and love. No one knows where one of them begins and the other ends, legs and arms long having become unrecognizable.

Just the faint scar on Changbin’s knee gives him away, drowned under Jisung’s and Chan’s legs, much like the rest of his body. He can’t breathe, not really, but he doesn’t think he needs to, when his best friends are by his side and give him so much more. Everything he could ever want.

He loves them, and they love him. That’s enough. More than enough.

It’s hours later, when Changbin dumps a bottle of water over his head in front of their van, to get rid of some of the crusty stickiness clinging to him, that Chan comes out from his spot on the driver’s seat and tumbles towards him, a dumbly endearing grin on his face.

“You look like a mess, Bin,” he exclaims before wrapping his arms around his wet body.

The sun is coming up on the horizon, the last wafts of cool early-morning air chilling Changbin’s skin to a comfortable prickle, even with someone else’s body wrapped around him. He’s thinking again, so he doesn’t answer immediately, takes his time for Chan to melt into him.

“I could live in nights like these forever,” he says, quietly, like he’s the morning breeze itself.

Chan hums contently into his neck, lips traveling over the marks left by Jisung just a few hours earlier, when they went for round two, and three, and four, in all kinds of variations they could think of in their stuffy van.

Changbin feels lose and loopy, funny in all kinds of ways and relieved, filled up with everything he feels for his two best friends. He allowed it to bubble out and reveal everything of himself to them completely, because he knows he gets nothing less in return.

“They’ll never have to end, not with us,” Chan assures and nuzzles his face deeper into Changbin’s neck. “We will always be by your side, Changbin.”

Tightness encaptures Changbin’s throat, uncomfortable and sticky and he coughs it away, lightly though, to not startle Chan out of the spot where he belongs. They watch the sun creep up over the horizon.

“Promise?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

It’s another pinkie that tangles with his and pulls his fingers in tight and when Changbin looks to his left, Jisung is standing there, topless and glistening with sweat, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please leave kudos and comments for me to get happy about!! Tell me your favourite line if you want to...


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